


Best of Three

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: KageHina - Freeform, M/M, Rimming, University AU, aged up kagehina, hinakage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 12:23:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10360431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: “Best out of seven,” Hinata says, after losing his third round of rock-paper-scissors in a row. Kageyama, for his part, looks incredibly unphased, which is frustrating to no end because Hinata is sweating, eyes narrowed and tongue poking out between his teeth as he concentrates.Kageyama has chosen rock three times now. It follows that Hinata should maybe choose paper instead of scissors, this time, because Kageyama is bound to pick rock again, but—but maybe that’s what he wants Hinata to think. Lull him into a false sense of security, perhaps, and then he’ll swoop in with scissors and steal another victory, and so—“On three, yeah?” Hinata says, clenching his fist. Kageyama nods, bored, and pointedly adjusts the waistband of his sweats. Yes, Hinata thinks, eyeing the tented fabric; he’s impatient too, but he is also stubborn, and very, very hungry to win.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So a while back [reallycorking](http://reallycorking.tumblr.com/) drew kageyama [getting his ass eaten](https://reallyporning.tumblr.com/post/157424305104/a-friend-mentioned-the-fact-that-theres-not-much) for once because it's always, always Hinata, and I was...very on board with that idea, soo he were are

“Best out of seven,” Hinata says, after losing his third round of rock-paper-scissors in a row. Kageyama, for his part, looks incredibly unphased, which is frustrating to no end because Hinata is _sweating_ , eyes narrowed and tongue poking out between his teeth as he concentrates.

Kageyama has chosen rock three times now. It follows that Hinata should maybe choose paper instead of scissors, this time, because Kageyama is _bound_ to pick rock again, but—but maybe that’s what he _wants_ Hinata to think. Lull him into a false sense of security, perhaps, and then he’ll swoop in with scissors and steal another victory, and so—

“On three, yeah?” Hinata says, clenching his fist. Kageyama nods, bored, and pointedly adjusts the waistband of his sweats. _Yes_ , Hinata thinks, eyeing the tented fabric; he’s impatient too, but he is also stubborn, and very, very hungry to win.

“One, two, three!”

Hinata throws his scissors with a triumphant _hah!_ And a long, wailing groan as Kageyama knocks his closed fist to Hinata’s fingers, and flops to lie on his back.

“Can we do it now?” Kageyama asks. “I have two tests tomorrow, and I don’t wanna have to tell my teacher I slept in because my boyfriend got too into rock-paper-scissors to have sex with me.”

“Best out of _nine_ ,” Hinata says through gritted teeth.

He’s not _too into_ rock-paper-scissors. It’s just, Kageyama is too _good_ , and Hinata absolutely _has_ to win tonight—he has to, and it definitely, without a doubt (for the most part) has nothing to do with his pride.

The thing is, there is something Hinata wants to do tonight. Something he’s wanted to do for _ages_ , months, _years_ probably, and he’s spent all day—when he should have been working—watching videos (for educational purposes), and reading blogs, looking at pictures and watching more videos (just for fun), so it has to be tonight.

It _has_ to be, and Hinata refuses to let Kageyama’s predictive prowess get in his way.

“Hinata,” Kageyama says, “if you want to pick how we do it that badly, just say so. You’re literally only embarrassing yourself.”

Hinata grinds his teeth. This _is_ what he wants, it is, and it’s nice that Kageyama is offering it free of charge, but…

But it feels an awful lot like cheating to bypass their process just because Kageyama is too weirdly good at rock-paper-scissors.

“Next one,” he says, setting his jaw. Kageyama rolls his eyes, and holds up a fist. “All or nothing.”

“All or nothing,” Kageyama says. He throws his spare arm over his eyes, and Hinata counts his way up.

 _One_. Kageyama can’t go rock _again_.

 _Two_. At least, no _normal_ man could, but Kageyama’s good, a strategic genius. There’s no telling what he might do. Paper, Hinata thinks, this time for sure he’ll use paper.

 _Three_. Hinata throws out another scissors. Why? He doesn’t even _know_. A reflex, maybe; muscle memory from all their previous rounds, but whatever the reason is doesn’t much matter. What matters is he’s blown it, he has, because Kageyama has chosen—

—Oh.

Hinata stares at his own hand in awed, shocked amazement, and then he stares at the airspace next to him, occupied not by Kageyama’s balled up fist but by his smooth, flattened palm.

Hinata chops Kageyama’s fake-paper fingers and whoops, bouncing against the mattress. He’s _magical_ , that must be it—this hand of his is mystical, can out-predict even _Kageyama_ , could probably make him millions if he could work out how to harness it’s powers and—

“Wait,” Hinata says, narrowing his eyes. Kageyama peeks out from beneath his arm, one eye winked open. “You let me win, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Liar!” Hinata yells, pointing an accusatory finger of his disappointingly average hand. “It doesn’t _count_ now.”

“It counts,” Kageyama says. “Please, just—it counts. You win. What are we doing?”

Hinata shuffles his legs. It feels _wrong_ , accepting this as a win when he knows it’s _false_ , but…but if he asks for a rematch, and Kageyama beats him, that’s it—he’s lost, and he’ll have to wait until next time. And he’s already waited _years_ for this opportunity.

“It counts,” Hinata says, slowly, “and you’re gonna let me choose _anything_ , right?”

“No feet,” Kageyama says, “and none of that…putting stuff in my _dick_ shit, and no—”

“Yeah yeah, nothing _weird_. But other than that? You’ll let me pick, and you won’t say no, right?”

Kageyama eyes him for a moment, and then, slowly, he nods.

“I wanna eat you out.”

Kageyama opens his mouth, but Hinata holds up a hand.

“Nuh-uh! No—no buts, you said _anything—”_

“—I _said_ —”

“—anything that wasn’t weird, right?”

Right, that’s definitely what he said, and Kageyama can’t worm his way out of it even if he tries. Which it looks like he might do, because he opens his mouth and he frowns, takes a big lungful of air, but the wheels in his head are turning with no traction, whizzing and revving and picking up _nothing_ , and Hinata knows so because if Kageyama had even the smallest of arguments to make, he would’ve done it by now.

“So you’re gonna let me do it, yeah?”

Kageyama squirms his hips on the bedding.

“I won’t like it,” he says.

“How’d you know that until you try it, huh? C’mon, _Scaredy-yama!_ I’ve done _loads_ of research, it’ll be the best thing ever, promise.”

Kageyama doesn’t look convinced. If anything, he looks even _more_ sceptical, all tucked brows and pinched eyes, but then he sighs, covers his face with both hands, and nods his head.

“Fine,” he says, voice all muffled by the press of his palms, “but if it’s weird and I don’t like it, we’re stopping, deal?”

“Deal,” Hinata says, snatching up one of Kageyama’s hands and shaking it. He nudges at Kageyama’s shoulder, then, and pushes him towards the edge of the bed. “Go clean up, all the websites say it’s bad for you to put your mouth on someone’s dirty a—”

Hinata topples back with the force of the pillow that claps over his face. The mattress shifts, and Kageyama gives this long, loud groan—the kind he uses when they’re in public and Hinata is about to say something stupid, or embarrassing, or most likely both—and heaves himself up off the bed.

“Stop talking,” he says, the very tips of his ears flaming pink under the bedroom light, “and just…get ready, or whatever.”

He slams both the bedroom door and the bathroom door unnecessarily loudly behind him, and Hinata grins, scrambling up on the mattress to prepare.

There isn’t really an awful lot to do, not once he’s propped a couple of pillows squarely on the centre of the bed, and not once he’s grabbed the nicest flavoured lube they have (he checked the bottle three times, because the cherry lube and the ‘ _spicy hot_ ’ warm-up lube have the exact same shade of red on the bottle, and from past misadventures Hinata knows that one tastes decidedly better than the other), and not once he’s stripped down to his shirt and his boxers, and all that left after that is to wait.

And wait.

And _wait_.

Hinata is half wondering if maybe Kageyama snuck out of the flat. The sound of the door would be masked by the rush of the shower, or maybe he’s dead in there, or been spirited away, stolen through the window, or _escaped_ through the window, and he is considering getting up to check when the water finally shuts off.

Kageyama looks _silly_ when he comes back in. He’s all red, for starters—”the shower was _hot_ , dumbass”—and for whatever stupid reason, he put his shirt back on but not his _pants_ , and for whatever even more stupid reason he’s embarrassed about it, keeps tugging the hem down to cover himself where he’s standing in the doorway, staring at the bed like it’s the deepest, darkest pit of hell come to swallow him right off of the earth.

Hinata grins, and pats the pillows in the middle of the mattress.

“Lie here,” he says, “hips on the pillow.”

Kageyama doesn’t look entirely _happy_ , climbing up onto the mattress and settling his hips against the pillow as instructed, and he doesn’t look entirely _comfortable_ , propped up on his elbows with his head craned all the way to one side, twisting to watch Hinata’s every move.

“Why’d you put your shirt back on, stupid?” Hinata asks, pushing the hem of it way up to the top of his back. The skin feels silky smooth beneath his fingers, all warm and soft and sweet-smelling from the shower. Hinata brushes his lips light and feathery against the bottom of his back, right above the round swell of his ass.

“This is embarrassing,” is all Kageyama says, shuffling his knees on the mattress.

“ _Haaah_ , now you know how I feel!” Maybe now, Hinata thinks, Kageyama will think twice before telling him to shut up when _he_ complains about feeling exposed, self-conscious, but probably not, because by now Hinata thinks Kageyama probably just _likes_ telling him to shut up.

“Just get _on_ with it, if you’re gonna.”

“Right.” Hinata presses one more kiss low on his back, tongue peeking to taste the skin at the cleft of his ass. Kageyama twitches, but he doesn’t speak.

He’s all _cute_ like this, ass in the air, back arched in a long, deep bow from shoulder to hip, cheeks cherry red and lips bitten pink. Hinata spreads a drop of lube on the tip of his finger, and smooths it between Kageyama’s cheeks.

The videos said to go slow, so that’s what Hinata does. A torturous back and forth, sweeping a slick stripe over Kageyama’s hole, again and again until the tense, tight muscle starts to relax.

It’s weird, being on this end of it. It’s not like he’s never played with Kageyama’s ass before—they switch up who does what all the time, depending on the day and how they feel and who wins rock-paper-scissors (usually Kageyama)—it’s just, Kageyama has never, not in all his years of trying, let Hinata do _this_ before.

“Kageyama~” Hinata hums, rubbing tight little circles against his entrance, leaning close to ghost hot breaths over him, “your butt’s so _cute_.”

“Not _cute_ , dumbass.”

“The cutest,” Hinata says. He presses wet little kisses to the plump blushing flesh. “Like a puppy. A hairless pink puppy.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Kageyama says. His voice sounds all stifled and stunted, and when Hinata risks a look over his shoulder, he can see Kageyama with his arms folded on the mattress, the bottom of his flush-bruised face pressed against them. _Cute_.

“I can’t believe you’re finally letting me do this,” Hinata goes on, spreading Kageyama open with both hands. His hole is all pink, clean and _ah_ , that’s what took him so long; he’s freshly shaven, baby smooth from his balls to his back. Hinata teases the tips of his fingers over the soft skin, and leans his face between Kageyama’s cheeks to probe it with his tongue.

It’s awkward, like this. Maybe he should have turned around, knelt behind him rather than _beside_ him, because then his chin wouldn’t be knocking against the bottom of Kageyama’s back, and he wouldn’t be tilting his head quite so far forward, and half the blood in his body might not be gathering in the top of his head.

It’s…a little weird, on this end. Not unpleasant—it’s kind of _nice_ , the feel of Kageyama’s hole twitching against his tongue, and it’s _definitely_ nice, hearing the little moan that bleeds past Kageyama’s lips as Hinata licks over him again—but it’s…strange.

It’s _hard_ , too; harder than the videos made it look, harder than how Kageyama makes it seem. He’s all fluid with it, knows exactly what to do with his tongue and his lips and his hands, and he’s gone at it for _forever_ in the past, hiked Hinata up and settled back and worked him long and slow with just his mouth. Hinata doesn’t understand how when already, after just a few minutes, his tongue and jaw are starting to ache.

He hums against him, which is something that usually feels good when Kageyama is doing it, and it must work because Kageyama’s whole body lurches, and the muscles in his thighs quiver.

“ _Hah—aah_ , shit—Hinata,” Kageyama breathes, levering back on his elbows and knees to push against Hinata’s mouth. “ _Ah_ —use—use your tongue more.”

“Oi,” Hinata says, pulling away with a weird, wet sucking sound, “you’re not—you’re not supposed to give me instructions! I’m going _slow_ , that’s what they say you’re supposed to do.”

“Too slow,” Kageyama says. It’s hard to look at him, from this angle; Hinata at his side, facing the opposite direction, but out the corner of his eye he can see a blurry, doubled-up version of his boyfriend, fisting the hair atop his head in one hand, twisting to look over his shoulder at Hinata, too.

“Well,” Hinata says, “what do you want me to do?”

“I told you,” he says, grinding his teeth, “use your _tongue_.”

“I’m—I’m _licking_ you! What else do you think I’m using, _B_ _akageyama?”_

Kageyama drops his head to the mattress and groans, pushing his ass up into—into nothing, because Hinata is sitting back, folding his arms over his chest and glowering down at Kageyama’s round, rosy cheeks.

“Wh—why’d you stop?!”

“If you’re gonna be bossy and mean, I’m not gonna do it.”

“I’m not being— _you_ wanted to do this, and what, you’re just gonna pout now?”

“I’m not pouting.”

“You _are_.” He is. Kageyama wiggles his hips against the pillows, sighing into the bedclothes. “We can stop, if you suck too bad to keep going.”

“I do not _suck_.”

“Alright, but you’re not _good_ either,” Kageyama says. Hinata stares down at him, at all of him, from back of his head to the bulky roll of his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt stretched taught over them, and down to the bare skin of his back, the bow of his spine and the pretty pink curve of ass, and something fiery simmers in his stomach.

“I am _so_ good,” he says, launching himself against the bottom of Kageyama’s back. “I’ll show you.”

Kageyama gives a strangled little yelp, thighs jumping when Hinata claps both hands to his cheeks (maybe a _little_ harder than necessary, stings his palms and reddens Kageyama’s skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind so much) and spreads him open.

“Whatever you say,” Kageyama says, but it’s all…all airy, lost in the warmth of his breath and in the bedsheets, scrunched in his fists and pulled tight against his face.

Hinata doesn’t waste time. In his head, he bypasses the start of all the tutorials—the light teases, the ghosted kisses, the soft strokes of soft fingers—and instead, he dives in.

“ _Hah—ha_ —shit, _Hina_ —” Kageyama chokes, spilling disjointed little sentences, panting and _whining_ with every dip of Hinata’s tongue inside of him.

“Who sucks now, _Bakageyama_?” Hinata says, and Kageyama’s hips judder up against him.

“Still you,” Kageyama breathes.

Hinata pinches him, and doubles his efforts. He tongues him faster, cups his lips against the twitching ring and sucks at him, gropes his cheeks and spreads them out to press his mouth harder against him, and with each renewed attempt Kageyama breathes a little faster, keens a little higher.

 _Good_ , this is good—Kageyama hasn’t complained again, not yet, and he hasn’t asked to stop, and Hinata is ninety nine per cent sure all of the little moans and groans spilling past Kageyama’s lips have been this-is-good type noises.

Hinata laps at him, and teases pressing, rolling fingers over Kageyama’s balls. He ruts down against the pillows with an obscenely loud moan, knees sinking further apart on the mattress.

Hinata reaches beneath Kageyama’s hips. He’s hard, cock hot and twitching where it sits wedged between his stomach and the pillows, but it is nestled in too tight for Hinata to reach. He hums, and Kageyama’s hips jump.

“Scoot back a bit,” he says. Kageyama does, thighs quaking with the shift, slips all the way back until his stomach sits on the pillows and his hips arch up against nothing. Hinata smooths a palm over him. The skin is warm, the tip beading enough fluid to wet the glide of Hinata’s hand.

From this angle, Hinata can’t see him, but there is an obscene picture in his head of what Kageyama might look like.

He’ll be flushed, for sure—ruddy-cheeked, a warm, pink spread over his chest and up his neck—with his eyes closed and his brows drawn up in the middle, just a little wrinkled turn of skin, and his lips will be red, damp and welted where his teeth have bitten them.

He’ll be shaking, too; his arms, his chest, his stomach and his legs, all shuddering under the weight of him and the probe of Hinata’s tongue, the suck of his lips and the stroke of his palm around his cock.

He throbs in Hinata’s hand. With every lick and suck and lave Hinata gives, Kageyama’s length gives an eager twitch, and a fresh pearl of cum leaks from his slit until he is dripping with it, over Hinata’s fingers and down onto the bedding.

“Hinata— _haa—ah—hah_ —Shou—Shouyou,” Kageyama keens, his hips rolling between the press of Hinata’s tongue and the squeeze of his hand, “fuck—I’m—”

“Close?” Hinata asks. Kageyama’s whole body gives a violent shudder. Hinata soothes his spare palm over Kageyama’s shaking thigh and loosens his grip around his length.

Kageyama nods, drawing a loud, shuddering breath.

When he comes, it is _loud_. Kageyama isn’t often all that vocal—he’s mostly little groans and breathy moans, and sometimes total, open-mouthed silence—but today he is a mess of tapered off words and half-finished sentences, choked cries and heavy breaths and Hinata’s name misting off his tongue.

His orgasm is violent, too, takes a heavy hold over all of him. From head to toe he shakes, and his hips jerk back and forth between Hinata’s mouth and his hand, bucking with each new wave of pleasure.

Hinata rides him through with softer touches. It’s weird, the feel of Kageyama’s hole fluttering around his tongue, but there is something strangely satisfying to every new pulse of muscle.

“Stop,” Kageyama says, when the shudder of his muscles dies down to soft, sporadic twitches. “‘S too much.”

Hinata lets go of his length, and presses one last kiss between his cheeks before he sits back on his heels. Kageyama flops flat to the bed and measures a few long breaths. Hinata watches him, the pink blush on his cheeks and the shiny blow of his eyes, and something honey-warm unfurls lazily in his gut.

He drops himself back, bouncing both himself and Kageyama against the mattress, and turns his head to face him. They lie close, so close the heat of Kageyama’s breath bleeds out over his face.

“Well?” Hinata says. “What’d you think? It’s good, right?”

Kageyama hums. There’s this wrinkled, constipated look on his face and it pulls his brows in deeper by the second, and Hinata knows _exactly_ what it means. It means he is right, and Kageyama loved it, and he doesn’t want to admit it.

“It was okay,” Kageyama says. “I guess. Your technique was shitty, though.”

“Oi!” Hinata rips up the loose bedding and flings it over Kageyama’s face, smothering him down into the mattress. “Don’t be so vulgar, Yamayama!”

Whatever Kageyama tries to say is muffled by the bedding. He claws his way free, pushes Hinata’s hands away and shoves him flat on his back, wrists pinned to the bedding. Hinata grins up at Kageyama’s face where it hovers over him, and cranes his neck up to kiss him.

“It was good, right?” He says. Kageyama’s eyes flicker off to one side. “It was! So we can do it again, yeah? We can take turns now! Or maybe— _ooh_ , Kageyama! Think we can do it at the same time?”

“No,” he says. “Because you’re the worst multitasker ever.”

“Nuh-uh, I’m so good! I can—I can run and listen to music, and I can watch tv and do my assignments at the same time, and, and I can cook _and_ eat at the same time, and—”

“Everyone can run and listen to music,” Kageyama says. “Not everyone runs into things—or people—while they’re doing it—”

“—I did that _once_ —”

“And you literally never get assignments done while you’ve got the tv on, and you never cook anything because you always eat one of your main ingredients first. But go on,” Kageyama says, “what else can you do?”

Hinata huffs, and sticks out his tongue. He sticks it out so far and tilts his head up so high, it pokes at the end of Kageyama’s nose. Kageyama wrinkles his face right up and lets go of Hinata’s arms, sitting upright so the hem of his shirt falls back down to his hips. Hinata stares at Kageyama’s flagging cock, and then to the crotch of his own boxers, which, he notes now, are tented up, with a damp spread where the head of his cock presses to the fabric.

Kageyama looks down at him, too.

“Blow me,” Hinata says. Kageyama surveys him for a moment, all frowny and pouty just like usual, and then he stretches, and shoves all of his pillows back up to the top of the bed, tugging back the rumpled covers.

“It’s pretty late,” he says, feigning a yawn. “Maybe I would, but you wasted so much time losing rock-paper-scissors, it’s past my bedtime.”

Kageyama clambers into bed, shucking his shirt off and stretching out beneath the covers. Hinata stares down at him, dumbfounded.

“ _Waaaaah_ , Kageyama!” Hinata cries, shedding his clothes and burrowing into the bed, too. Kageyama rolls to his side, facing away, and Hinata presses himself flush down the length of him, tugging at his shoulder to turn him around. Kageyama doesn’t budge, but he does grunt.

“This is your own fault,” he says. There is something warped to his tone, like his lips are pinched around it. Hinata peeks over his shoulder to see the taught tug of Kageyama’s cheek, and the wrinkles of a smile about his eyes.

“‘Yama~” Hinata moans, tugging at his shoulder a little harder. He wobbles, but he doesn’t roll. “‘Yama, c’mon, that’s so not fair.”

Kageyama shrugs.

“G’night,” he says, and Hinata wails.

“You’re gonna make me deal with it myself?”

“You can manage, right?”

“You’re the worst boyfriend ever, you know that?”

Kageyama grunts something that might be a laugh, might be genuine dismay, and sighs, rolling to lie on his back. Hinata drapes himself over his chest, propping his elbow against Kageyama’s breastbone.

“I’ll let you sleep after,” he says. Kageyama wedges an arm under Hinata’s torso, drawing it up over his hip to rest, fingers splayed, against the bottom of his back. Hinata tilts his hips up into the touch. “I’ll make you breakfast,” he goes on, airy, as Kageyama’s fingers paint little tickling patterns close to his ass. He drops his head forward, until the tip of Kageyama’s nose brushes his temple. “I’ll do the laundry.”

“You were supposed to do the laundry _today_.” Kageyama stretches his neck up, pressing a kiss to Hinata’s warm cheek. He hums, and gasps at the glide of Kageyama’s finger between his cheeks.

“Tomorrow, promise.”

“Mmhm.” Kageyama drags his lips down to Hinata’s jaw, along to his ear, pressing his tongue into the soft, pliant skin beneath the lobe. “That’s not gonna happen. I’ll end up doing it, like I do every time.”  

Hinata grins lazily, bowing his spine to press into Kageyama’s touch. He slides one long finger all the way over him, from the bottom of his back to his balls and back again. Hinata’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Nah,” he says, and he whines, dropping his forehead all the way to Kageyama’s chest and rocking back into his touch.

“Nah?”

Hinata shakes his head, and lifts his curled fist in front of Kageyama’s face.

“Loser does the laundry,” he says. “Best of three?”

**Author's Note:**

> So I posted this on Thursday, and by Friday, RC came at me with a [follow-up](https://reallyporning.tumblr.com/post/158521815254/kagehina-begets-more-kagehina) to go with the end of this fic, which you should all go look at and admire greatly immediately bc it's beautiful.


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